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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167105">one two three</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/swancharmings/pseuds/swancharmings'>swancharmings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Suits (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Post-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:08:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>732</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23167105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/swancharmings/pseuds/swancharmings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A game of numbers. (Darvey, set in season 9)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>one two three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/andsocanshe/gifts">andsocanshe</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by an episode of “The Unusuals,” which I have never seen but Alyssa (donnaandharvey) told me about it and I have not stopped screaming. Please enjoy this little ficlet, comments and critiques always welcome!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
  <p>“One,” Donna whispers in his ear while he’s shaving, and he nearly nicks himself at the feeling of her sweet breath on his face and her nose brushing his jaw.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He shrugs on his suit jacket and she passes him a cup of coffee with a smirk, which only grows as he announces, “Three.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He turns and she watches him walk back towards the bedroom. “Six,” she calls out, and he feels his dick twitch.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Eight,” he says as he guides her out the door, hand not so much on her back as it is on her ass.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Donna grinds against his palm. “Nine.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>———</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>By the time they get to the firm, the count has skyrocketed.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Forty-seven,” he tosses over his shoulder as she enters her office. She looks at him pointedly and raises her eyebrows.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ten more? Really?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harvey shrugs. “I’m creative.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Donna rolls her eyes and bends down to drop her purse on the floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Forty-eight,” he calls and she blushes.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She looks up as Harvey leaves and locks eyes with Alex, who is watching the exchange with an expression that can only be defined as queasy.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She clears her throat and pretends to be busy with the pile of papers in her inbox.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>———</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s not even noon when she picks up the phone and taps the button for Harvey’s office.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Sixty-nine,” she purrs into the line, biting her lip and crossing her legs while he groans into her ear.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s barely hung up the phone when Samantha barges into his office.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Harvey, where do we stand on Brick Street?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He coughs, glances up in confusion. He feels dizzy. “What?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Who was that on the phone?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Donna, ah — needed to give me some more information.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Samantha purses her lips. “On?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harvey swallows. “Statistics. Very...vital statistics.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not even going to respond to that.” She turns away with a smirk. “Come and find me when you’re presentable.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harvey doesn’t even have a retort.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>———</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He corners Donna in the file room, presses her up against the copier.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Eighty-one,” he growls, lips dangerously close to her neck.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Hmmm,” she chuckles, looks up at him through her lashes. “One. Hundred.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He shakes his head. “No way.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No? Want me to show you?”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh,” he murmurs, holding her waist reverently. “You will.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She returns to her desk ten minutes later to find a sticky note tacked to her laptop.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>
    <em>One hundred five.</em>
  </p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>———</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s in the middle of a meeting with Faye when he catches her eye outside the glass.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“One-twenty-two,” Donna mouths with a quirk of her brow.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If he didn’t before, he has no desire to pay attention after that.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She’s grinning at him, and he flashes her three fingers in rapid succession: <em>one-two-three.</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>———</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“One-eighty-nine,” Harvey drawls from her doorway as she buttons her coat.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>She tugs on his tie, fingertips lingering on his collarbone. “One-ninety.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>They ride the elevator down, the floors decreasing as their own numbers go up.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>If Ray is perturbed by their fondling in the back seat, he doesn’t comment.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two-oh-two,” Donna says sweetly as Harvey fumbles for the key.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two-oh-three.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>The door swings open.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two-oh-four.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Donna toes off her heels.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two-oh-five.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Harvey’s own shoes and suit jacket are rapidly discarded on the floor.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two-oh-six.” Donna picks up the rumpled fabric and hangs it alongside her coat. Harvey grabs her hand, leads her to his bedroom that doesn’t feel so much like <em>his</em> as it does <em>theirs </em>these days.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two-oh-seven.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two-oh-eight.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two-oh-nine.”</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two —“ Donna doesn’t get to finish. Harvey swallows the rest of the numbers in a deep kiss, mouths melting together, and he pulls her as close as humanly possible.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Then it’s shirts and pants and underwear traded in favor of bare skin and silk sheets and lips and teeth and tongues.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Donna straddles his waist, grinding against his thigh and leaving a trail of slippery wetness.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“All day,” she whispers, nipping at his jaw.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>He flips them over and runs his hard length through her folds, and he rubs the tip and her clit all at once.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“All day,” he repeats, voice thick.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Then what are you waiting for,” she asks, breathless and giddy, and the smile on her face widens and her eyes flutter closed as he pushes inside her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>After, they lay panting, sharing soft nuzzles and kisses.</p>
</div><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two,” he mumbles against her lips, and they laugh together in the dark.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The episode is called “Boorland Day,” and the two main characters are just going about their lives while throwing seemingly random numbers at each other — unbeknownst to everyone else, it’s how many times they have thought about having sex during the day. And then they do it. And so, this just wrote itself. </p>
<p>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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